


Change

by Doitsuki



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Family, Gen, Mirkwood, The Hobbit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2399768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitsuki/pseuds/Doitsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First Fic posted to AO3.<br/>Thorin is found lost in Mirkwood as a child, and Thranduil rescues him, raising him as if he were his own.<br/>Diverges from Canon. Kinda like history rewritten.<br/>Contains more information in the introduction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**_~Introduction~_ **

_Alternate Universe type of Middle Earth. Thror sends out dwarves to loot neighboring settlements due to his goldsickness growing, and Thrain (along with little Thorin who’s tagging along for the excitement of a raid) has a party of dwarves with him to infiltrate Mirkwood. They get caught trying to loot an Elven outpost and due to magical confusion business, Thorin is separated from everyone. The story revolves around Thranduil raising Thorin as if he were his own, and the events that follow these circumstances._

_Here is the timeline which this universe goes by._

 

-THIRD AGE-

1000- Legolas born

1050- Sauron appears, takes over Greenwood Capital (amon Lanc? Dol Guldur?) and forest is renamed Mirkwood

1100 - Thranduil takes his Silvan Elves over the Forest River and founds the Woodland Realm (built into a hillside mountain thing, secured with magic)

2341- Tauriel Found (in the forest, at the age of 280. Legolas is 341.)

2746 - Thorin born (son of thrain II )

2758-59 - Long Winter Ends, Thorin is 13. Thror starts thieving stuff.

2764 - Thorin, 18. Story starts here.

2770- Erebor Overtaken, Dale ppl are screwed, the elves become even more secretive and distrustful of strangers

2941-The Hobbit events (Thorin dies etc)

 

_Written for my own entertainment and simulation of family life. If you have concrete thoughts and opinions on elf-dwarf relationships I strongly suggest you do not read this, as it turns rivalry and hatred into love and acceptance. Family love, mind you. There’s no romance in here._

I have never written Thorin's character before, and don't know that much about dwarves. So let's see where this goes. :v 

 


	2. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of it all. Thranduil finds Thorin and weird stuff happens.

_-Third Age, 2764._

 

Thorin sprinted through the dark Mirkwood forest, his heart pounding in fright as he frantically searched for his companions. Being only eighteen years old and very short, his legs couldn’t carry him as quickly as he’d liked, but nevertheless he ran as fast as he could. _(Note: 18 in Dwarf years is like eight in Human years.)_

“Where are you?” he cried, voice drowning in the thick rustling of the canopy above. Creaking, dying trees shivered in the chill air as a heavy mist began to settle, seemingly as if in response to Thorin’s voice. The woods were alive, with all sorts of creatures Thorin never wanted to encounter again. Giant spiders, flesh-eating flies and most of all, elves. Bronze and silver flashed in and out of the treetops, figures blending with the leaves leaping from tree to tree like mere squirrels armed to the teeth. Voices chattered in a foreign tongue, urgent and harsh with the sounds of branches breaking and far off screaming. Thorin was utterly confused, everything moving too fast for him to realize what was happening. The screams grew louder as he reached a clearing in the forest, the mist so thick he couldn’t see his own hands. 

 

Suddenly he became aware of a presence behind him. The screams became dull and the mist parted in the forest to reveal a pale, white creature standing many sword-lengths away from him.

“W...what…?” Thorin’s voice was little more than a whisper as the creature began to walk towards him, large antlers pushing the mist away. Now alarmed, the dwarf stepped back and turned to run, but found vines and branches pressing in all around. There was sorcery at work here. Terror filled his whole body as he stood frozen, backing up against whatever he could feel behind him. He recognized the animal as a stag, and stared as it stopped a short distance away from him, the same that would part two strangers in conversation. It was like time had slowed, the fighting nearby still present but not as important any more. 

 

Slowly, the stag raised its head and tilted it to the side, exposing a long, pale neck with a line of red drawn across it. Thorin realized it was injured, and inched forwards using his hands to clear the mist about him.When he was standing directly in front of the stag, he noticed its eyes locked to his own, drifting down to the ground with a slight gesture of the head. The dwarf followed that look and noticed most of the mist on the forest floor had dissipated. They were still enclosed in a curtain of white, but the screams and clashes of weapons had started up again and soon surrounded them in a cacophony of violence. Thorin squinted, and bent down.

 

By his feet, there lay a dwarven travelling cloak with familiar runes burnt into the fabric. He knew who this belonged to. And the next voice he heard before all fell silent only confirmed his suspicions.

 

“Father?!” The mist vanished instantly to reveal twenty wood-elves clad in leather and mail, the body of Thrain at the feet of two. Blood poured from a gaping wound in his side, the tattered blue fabric of his clothes lying around him in shreds. Thorin’s eyes widened and he realized his father was still alive, gasping for breath yet not pleading for his life. The stag had gone, and Thorin had never felt more alone in his entire life. There was a different presence behind him this time, but the young dwarf could not look away. He made to run towards his father, maybe he could save him, perhaps he could talk to the elves - but something choked him, and he was jerked back.

“Be still.” A cold voice spoke in the Common Tongue, stiff fingers gripping the back of Thorin’s coat. Thrain pleadingly gaped at the figure behind Thorin, his words failing him as his eyes unfocussed. Everything about him said “No.” But Thorin reached out towards him, only to be pulled back again. This time he struggled fiercely to turn around, shoving at whoever was holding him. Yet he found no hand at his back nor face to glare into - it was the five-fingered root of a tree hooked into his collar that kept him from moving, curled around a grey pillar close by Thorin’s head. When he looked up, he found an elf of petrifying height standing beside him, a stern look on its pale face framed by hair longer than Thorin was tall. A crown of thin branches twisted together reached from the elf’s head up to the skies, and vines slid away from him to reveal silver robes nearly touching the ground.

Thorin grabbed at the elf’s legs, for that was all he could reach.

“Let me go!! I won’t let you kill me, nor my father…!” he shouted, shaking the elf by his slim, sturdy legs. Said elf would not budge, and furrowed his thick eyebrows in annoyance.

“Silence.” That voice was now a deep growl, and Thorin paused for a moment at the seething hostility beneath it. Was he imagining it, or was this elf a little different to the others…?

 

The other elves now faced them, knelt to the ground in a gesture of respect. One had bowed slightly and held a curved dagger in its hand, speaking in Elvish to the figure beside Thorin. 

“Make use of the Common Tongue, so this dwarfling can understand.”said the figure, gesturing to Thorin.

“As you wish, King Thranduil.”

Thorin nearly fainted. He had only heard tales of the mad Elven king who lived in a cave in the corrupt forest, murderous and racist towards all Dwarves. 

“YOU!” Thorin spat, glaring at Thranduil with sheer hatred in his eyes “YOU KILLED HIM!”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. “He is not dead yet.”

A lightning flash of silver caught Thorin’s eye as the elf beside Thrain swept down with his knife to the dwarf’s neck, the blade a hairsbreadth away from skin.

“Would you like him to be, my King?” said the elf, an excited grin on his face.

“No.” Thranduil spoke with a clear voice, pointing at another elf. “You, Nelien. Take him to the dungeons, and do not let him die.”

“Such mercy…” one of the elves muttered in elvish, the others agreeing. Thorin’s face contorted in disbelief. Why on Arda would the Elvenking spare the life of a dwarf, one his subjects so obviously wanted dead? It made no sense to Thorin, whose previous anger crumbled to pieces.

“You… spared his life?” he asked in a small voice, looking up to Thranduil again.

Thranduil scoffed. “A thieving prince sent to loot my kingdom’s outposts, spared?”

For a moment it sounded like he would admit to torturing the dying Thrain until his last breath, but then his tone became more even. “I would not take his life for that.”

Thorin immediately called bullshit. There had to be some secret motive behind the King’s actions, something more than he was letting on.

“You’re planning something, I know it..” Thorin growled, mind full of suspicion.

Thranduil uncrossed his arms, before folding them behind his back.

“You know nothing of me, dwarfling. Only that which your race has told you of their encounters with mine, I am sure.” His voice took a faraway tone as he continued “Your kin have wronged us in the past… yet I do not seek vengeance. I plan nothing for Thrain.”

Thranduil thought on this. He remembered the slaying of Thingol and the countless tears of his royal court in Doriath, over the greed of dwarves and a Silmaril. He remembered standing beside his father in awe as the Sindar king gave speeches to his loyal subjects. He remembered moving into the Greenwood, Sauron destroying the capital and forcing the elves to flee up north into a cave. His face remained emotionless but his eyes held sorrow Thorin had never seen before. And since Thranduil was looking at the ground, his face was plain to see.

“Where are the rest of my friends…?” Thorin asked, noticing from the corner of his eye the elves moving around and dragging bodies from the undergrowth.

“We do not take kindly to thieves in my kingdom.” Thranduil said, straightening his posture and walking towards the elves “They have the choice to kill or imprison. I do not mind.”

Thorin paled, and began to feel sick. So it didn’t matter either way? Were Thranduil’s previous words just wind in the trees? Somehow, he felt that he would not be seeing his father again. He didn’t realize he was crying until Thranduil came back to him with a piece of silk in his hand. The king bent to Thorin’s eye level and offered him the handkerchief, showing the slightest hint of concern on his face.

“Do not cry.” he spoke softly, watching the myriad of expressions flicker across the dwarf’s face. “You will be fine.”

Thorin felt deeply ashamed, having never shown weakness before anyone other than his mother. He’d been taught to be tough, and suck it up whenever things went wrong, but this was so wrong on so many levels he honestly didn’t know what to do. He was also afraid; very afraid of the Elvenking whom he’d heard so much about - seeing him in person, going from indifferent to compassionate in seconds… Surely, the elf was an insane trickster who was screwing with Thorin’s head. Come to think of it, Thorin did feel a rather intense headache approaching. He knew not if it came from the poisonous mist in the forest or the heavy illusion magic messing up his perception of reality - but all he could do for now was bury his face in his hands and hide from the world.

Thranduil sighed, hoping Thorin wouldn’t accidentally suffocate himself as he tried to hide. He did not understand dwarves as much as he liked to think, and had no clue how Thorin would react to Thrain’s death. The wounds Thrain had suffered were not something Thranduil’s healers could fix. They had no experience with dwarven bodies and although they’d been ordered to keep him alive, Thrain would likely never see the sun rise again.

 

“Come. I will take you to safety.” Thranduil held out his hand, but Thorin stepped away and shook his head, still hiding his face.

“N-no…” the dwarf sniffled, feeling a sudden dizziness take him as he moved.

“Thorin. The longer we stay here, the more dangerous it becomes. We must go.”

And with that, Thranduil scooped Thorin up in his arms and began to walk. The forest floor cleared itself for the King as he made his way along the path to his underground halls. 

“L-Let me go!” Thorin wailed, thrashing about desperately. Thranduil was dangerous. That’s what Thorin had been taught about most elves. If he wanted to live, he had to escape. But he felt sluggish and could barely see, the forest’s enchantment weighing down heavily upon him. Thranduil seemed entirely unaffected, calmly striding ahead as he took each impact of Thorin’s fists here and there. 

_‘He will tire himself out eventually’_ Thranduil thought, wincing slightly as Thorin punched him in the neck, the same place he’d been injured from a dwarven knife throw at his stag form. Thorin’s hand came to him with blood, and the dwarf paled further at the sight of it.

After that, he stopped fighting. Indeed, he no longer had the energy to continue his onslaught of attacks.

“Finally…” Thranduil breathed quietly, the gates of his kingdom coming into view. Many elves lined the bridge over the Enchanted River, waiting for their King. When they saw Thranduil carrying Thorin, they didn’t know how to react. He said nothing as the doors opened by mental command, walking in before all the others followed. When the doors shut, Thorin peered over Thranduil’s shoulder to take a look. 

There was no way he could escape now. He was trapped.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god, I do not know how to write. Oh well. I got the point across. *runs*
> 
> Next Chapter: Jealous Legolas and Thorin coming to terms with his new life.


	3. Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do I summarise this I don't even know what's going on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this chapter seems a little cracktastic but as you'll discover, I like to have fun with my writing. It'll get way more serious later on. )

Thranduil strode along the twisting pathways of rock deep within his kingdom, making haste for the palace locked behind doors only the royal family and their servants could enter. Moments after his entrance, the Woodland Realm was abuzz with gossip. Their King had brought a dwarf with him, and for what reason, none knew. Soldiers behind Thranduil went their separate ways, Thrain being carried off to the dungeons like a carpet rolled under an arm. 

Galion, Thranduil’s loyal butler of thousands of years had been the first to hear the gossip, and didn’t quite believe it. Yet when he approached the Elvenking with a question on his lips, he was ordered to prepare ‘one fine room fit for permanent residence.’

The rumor spread.

“You should have seen the look he gave me…” said Nelien, the elf who had been ordered to take care of Thrain. She spoke to Breldas, the keeper of the keys to the dungeons. “It was terrifying, and absolutely unreadable. Who knows what he’s going to do with that thing?”

Breldas narrowed his cold grey eyes and made a disgusted snort. “Ugh. I hope he’s not planning to eat it, I heard the people of Dale have been late on their meat shipment again.”

Looking absolutely horrified, Nelien smacked him across the face and was about to lecture him on respectful speech when another elf interrupted them.

“The prisoner, he’s not going to live. What are we going to do…?”

Nelien stiffened, remembering the King’s orders. But surely he must’ve known the dwarf wouldn’t survive such grievous wounds? Perhaps it had been all for show - for that little dwarfling that was the Woodland Realm’s new infamous celebrity. Nobody knew who he was, other than the son of Thrain. It suddenly appeared that the elves would have to come up with a good excuse as to why the prince of Erebor had died and his son taken hostage.

“Do what you normally do with the dead.” she told the elf, who looked at her in confusion.

“But we’ve not had a death in centuries….”

“I know what to do…” mused Breldas, a hand to his stinging cheek in thought. “Let’s send him back to Erebor and blame those lazy lake-town people.”

Nelien sighed. How she hated negotiating with him.

 

~

 

Higher within the mountain behind thick doors of stone, Thranduil arrived at the room where Galion stood. It was on the same corridor as the rooms of Tauriel and Legolas, with a tiled marble floor leading to a spiral staircase and even more rooms. Thorin had stayed silent within Thranduil’s arms as he observed his surroundings, and within minutes he was lost. The architecture made no sense to him whatsoever, and there were too many fancy things for his liking. Clearly, the king loved to display his wealth. It all looked so fragile, reminiscent of the elves themselves. Thorin wondered what would happen if he broke something.

 

“Your Majesty….” Galion started, falling silent at the calm gesture from Thranduil.

The Elvenking lowered his hand and said nothing, walking past the elf into the room. Once the door was shut, he put Thorin down. For a few moments, the air was still with tension. Slowly, Thorin began to walk around. Soft amber lamps lit the room, which had been hollowed from the mountain and filled with wooden furniture. He traced a line down the wall with his index finger, following a carved tree branch in the rock to where it met an ornate beech dresser. Upon the dresser sat a wooden bowl, with even more intricate detailing all over. Several gems of all colours glimmered within it, too enticing for Thorin to resist. He reached for the bowl, just out of his arm’s reach and was going to jump for it when he paused, feeling eyes upon him. Thranduil was staring so intently it seemed his eyes might fall out of his head. The dwarf turned away, flexing his fingers as if his previous actions were a mere stretch.

“...what?” he growled, folding his arms defensively. Thranduil _smirked_ , moving to sit on the bed as he drew his gaze to the ceiling. 

“Do you think this bed is too tall for you?” Thranduil ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly, eyes fixed upwards. Even the ceiling had ornate swirls dancing across it.

Thorin immediately took offense and scowled, drawing himself up to his full height of no more than three feet as he stormed towards Thranduil.

“How _dare_ you?” He made his way to the foot of the bed and eyed the smooth surface, designs cut into the wood and not raised for him to climb up on “Insulting me is the last thing you’ll- ungh!” Suddenly he was on the edge of the bed, his short arms gripping the silken covers. He tried to wriggle his body up higher but found no energy to do so, and cursed his long journey through the forest for stealing his strength. “Just… a little bit-”

Thorin yelped as he felt Thranduil haul him up and sit him on the edge, patting his head as if to congratulate his efforts. ‘You tried’ was written all across his face.

Thorin pouted, moving away from Thranduil. He didn’t like to be manhandled at all, especially by the Elvenking who seemed far too amused to be doing such things. Staying in this elf’s presence made Thorin’s unease whisper hints of fear, and he remembered what he needed to do. Find someone who could help him escape, hopefully with his father and any other dwarves they’d brought on the raid- oh. Images of the dead broke through his foggy thoughts and he stiffened, the scent of blood all too fresh in his mind.

 

Thranduil noticed the change in the dwarf’s body language and thought to himself,

_‘He has seen things none of his age should have to witness…’_

Unwilling to blame himself- really, it was the 5 th Guard Squad who decided to kill the intruders, they hadn’t been given his orders to do so, surely it wasn’t his fault- and eager to set Thorin’s mind at ease, he spoke softly.

“I do not know your name yet, only your status.”

Thorin broke out of his reverie and turned to look at Thranduil, whose piercing gaze had melted to a calmer look. Now distracted from his troubling thoughts, he put his guard up and avoided the question.

“I’m a prince, you know that much. Erebor needs me for…” he paused, furrowing his dark eyebrows together “Important stuff. Dwarf stuff, you wouldn’t understand.”

Thranduil challenged him with his own eyebrow game and raised them in questioning, crossing one leg over the other.

“If they send a messenger asking for you by name, how will I know what to respond?” said he, tilting his head to the side. Thorin watched the spill of silvery blonde hair cascade over Thranduil’s shoulder and thought for a moment.

“You won’t need to respond. Just send me back home…” he said in a matter-of-fact voice, his tone weakening towards the end. He almost added ‘please’ to the end of that. No way was he going to offer politeness to his captor. He would fight when he had his strength back. And bring the entire army of Erebor to the Elvenking’s doorstep.

 

As if seeing the flames of war flicker behind Thorin’s eyes, Thranduil frowned.

“I cannot do that. Your kingdom is in great danger, and only here you will be safe.”

Thorin paled, disbelief apparent as he began to needle Thranduil with countless questions. But the Elvenking was in no mood to relay tales of dragonfire and treasure hoarding, so he stood up and made for the door.

“Hey, where are you going?!” Thorin shouted, moving to jump off the bed. “You haven’t even told me-”

“Shh.” Thranduil hissed, turning to face him. “I will tell you tomorrow, if you will let me know who you are. You need to rest. An eventful day awaits you.”

And with that, he stepped backwards and slipped away.

Thorin sighed, kicking the door in frustration. It was locked, most likely with magic. Feeling like a prisoner, he went to look for an exit but found none.

 “Damn you fancy walls…” he muttered, slumping beside the dresser. Despite being underground and surrounded by rock, he had never felt so misplaced in his entire life. At least he had those shiny gems for company. He would steal them in the morning, and trade them with some random elf in exchange for his freedom.

With thoughts of business and escape, Thorin drifted to sleep.

 

~

 

The morning came, and Thorin awoke to the sound of the door opening. An elven servant walked in, folded clothes in his hands and a worried look on his face. Still unused to his surroundings, Thorin squinted at the elf and must have appeared hostile, for the clothes were dropped by his feet and the elf ran out.

“What….?” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. It was a habit for him as of late, since every morning he would check to see if he’d started growing a beard yet. It was a dwarven cultural thing, and Thorin had been eager for the moment he’d be able to show off his princely glory to all his friends. Now, he didn’t know if he’d ever see them again.

Looking as clean-shaven and irritated as ever, Thorin stood and picked up the clothes. They seemed to be a child’s size, but were too long for him. Light and silky, the robes flowed through his hands like water and he wondered how these were even considered wearable. He much preferred leather and furs, things of comfort, practicality and status. Now he felt like he was wearing a cloud.

As he stared at himself in the mirror, there were footsteps by the door accompanied by hushed elven voices. Curiosity poked at his mind and he thought back to his escape idea from the night before - those gems would surely buy anyone’s trust. That was, after all, the Dwarven way. Everything had a price, and honor attached. So Thorin made for the dresser, reached for the bowl and jumped to grab at it. Almost immediately he found himself pelted with shiny jewels, raining down on him and the clothes he’d changed out of. The voices stopped, and Thorin froze. Had he made too much noise? Did they think he was destroying the place? He had to act quickly. Stuffing the gems into the pockets of his loose pants, he tiptoed over to the door and poked his head out.

“Scuse me.”

Someone shrieked in a high pitched voice and Thorin almost shat himself. The elven servant who’d entered previously was now hidden behind another elf, a female with red hair and an emerald green dress.

“Oh Elbereth, would you stop being so jumpy?” she said, sidling away from the servant “It’s just a child.”

Thorin didn’t understand a word, and stared up at her. 

“What are you on about?” he spoke in the Common Tongue, as was the only language he could talk to these people in. The elf-maiden looked at him, and bent down as to match his height. She spoke so he could understand, and told him there was nothing to worry about.

“C-careful, Tauriel… it might bite you.” said the servant, shivering a little. Thorin blinked, then bared his teeth. In an instant, the servant ran for his immortal life. Tauriel on the other hand laughed lightly and shook her head.

“He’s scared of everyone, that guy.” She smiled and moved back a little, inviting Thorin to step out into the corridor. For an elf, she seemed rather friendly and Thorin saw no harm indoing so. With his plan in mind, he made a bit of conversation.

“Who are you?” he asked, having not understood the flowery language of the servant.

“Tauriel, Captain of the Guard of the Woodland Realm. And you?”

Thorin inhaled a deep breath, and put on his best merchant voice. It was then that he realized he had no idea what he was doing.

“I’m someone with a fantastic deal for you. You could become rich beyond measure if you aid in my escape of these halls.” He produced the prettiest sapphire from his pocket and pulled his best charming smile, looking every bit as adorable as anyone could.

“Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwww!” Tauriel cooed, petting him on the head “You’re so cute! Already trying to trade things, are you?”

Aghast, Thorin recoiled. “W-what?!” he spluttered “I’m not cute! I’m tough! And I’m offering you the chance of a lifetime here-” Thorin then recalled he was speaking of lifetimes to an _elf_ , one who had all the time in the world to do whatever she liked. And as a captain of the guard, she was probably faithful to the King. His logic began to dissolve his plan like salt in water, realization sinking into his expression. 

Tauriel seemed to notice and took a patronizing tone to her voice, reassuring him that he didn’t need to escape, and that everything would be fine. Her words meant nothing to him, for all the dwarf wanted was to hide away in Erebor where his family was safe and there were no weird elves to worry about. Family. He thought of his father, and with determination asked Tauriel of his whereabouts. Her reaction only raised his suspicions - the slight flicker of grey eyes to the right, breath caught in her throat - she said she knew nothing. Before Thorin could argue, she stood alert and quickly began to walk away.

“Hey!” Thorin called after her, running as fast as his short legs could take him “I’m not done with you!”

 

“I think you are.” came the cold, spiteful voice of an elf, one whose presence behind Thorin sent chills rippling down his spine. Visibly shaken, the dwarf turned to see nothing but green, apart from brown boots that stood on the long blue silk of his robes. “I would not antagonize her. It will not end well for you.”

‘ _Was that a threat?_ ’ Thorin thought, beginning to panic. _‘Oh hell no. Ain’t nobody got time for that._ ’ With a single swift motion of his arm, Thorin chucked the sapphire in his hand straight for the elf’s face and the moment he hit his target (who stumbled back, cursing in Elvish) he bolted down the stairs.

**_‘NOPE’_** was all he could think, his surroundings little more than a blur. These elves were screwing with his head. One was a psychopath, one a scaredy-cat, one an overly friendly guard and more recently, this threatening brute in so much green he could have passed for a cucumber.

Everyone was out to get him. He needed to escape. Doors and halls he passed, not knowing where he was headed. He passed several elves, all whom stepped away from him, voices pitched in alarm. Behind him, he heard the cucumber -- _green-dressed elf_ , cursing after him in what he hoped wasn’t a dark magical hex.

 

_~Meanwhile~_

 

Thranduil sat at the head of a long table, holding a meeting with his council. He had called them after breakfast to discuss Thorin, and ease their concerns about the state of affairs.

“As I have previously stated, we are not holding any ill intent towards the dwarves at this present time. They have come to steal from our kingdom, and have ended up dead. The child is the only survivor, and cannot be returned to Erebor.” Thranduil’s clear voice rang through the conference hall, the other twenty elves listening carefully. Three places at the table were empty, the seat directly opposite the Elvenking along with two others near the far end. One elf raised his hand, and Thranduil granted him permission to speak.

“But _why_ , my Lord? He is not our responsibility…” The other elves agreed, silently nodding their heads. Thranduil leaned back in his chair with a hard look in his eyes.

“I would not send a child to his death.You all know of the wealth hoarded in Erebor. A dragon is due there any time now, and it goes without saying what destruction those creatures bring.”

A moment of silence grew for the losses the Woodland Realm had suffered in the past two ages. They had all been there. They remembered. The burning. The screaming. The crying, so grievous it was. Nobody wanted to have anything to do with dragons ever again, and now that the threat existed, it was imperative they stay locked within their kingdom until the danger had passed.

“Do you intend to raise the child?” said the elf after a while, his hands nervously fidgeting in his lap. ‘ _It’s something unheard of in the history of Arda._ ’ he thought. Most of the others shared his opinion.

Thranduil thought for a moment, then nodded. 

“I do. It will be nice to have some youth around for once. He’s a precious little thing, really. Even though he’s a dwarf, I trust you will all treat him kindly.” A light smile crossed his face, and the elf who’d spoken lowered his head. The king had surely gone mad. Was it not he who’d been so affected by Thingol’s death he had sworn revenge on the dwarves for eternity? Or was that his father Oropher, who’d taught the Silvan Elves to distrust and hate the dwarves for what they had done? Now pondering history, the elf fell silent.

Thranduil stood, folding his hands behind his back. He adopted his usual regal posture and walked over to the huge window, his long silver robes trailing a few meters behind him. The forest he could see from so high up was a beautiful spring canopy of bright green, as far as any elf-eyes could see. This high up in the mountain, it was safe to have open windows facing out of rooms as nothing could climb the sheer rock face nor surpass the magical barrier maintained by the kingdom’s mages and Thranduil himself. 

There were places at ground level Thranduil had preserved, areas of the Greenwood protected from the darkness coming from the south. These little places were like hidden paradises only he and a few others knew about. Maybe he would take Thorin there one day.

Almost as if in response to his thoughts, that very same Thorin burst through the door with Tauriel and Legolas not far behind. Out of breath, he took one look at the twenty-two pairs of eyes staring at him and made a last attempt to save himself. Using Thranduil as a shield, he hid behind the tall elf and tried to calm down.

“Y-you!” Thranduil exclaimed, shocked at the sudden intrusion. He still didn’t know the dwarf’s name and felt a bit rude at addressing him like that, but all thoughts of informality left his mind the moment Tauriel and Legolas entered. Livid with rage, Legolas’s fists shook by his sides as a worried Tauriel desperately tried to hold him back. Thorin whimpered in fright, clutching Thranduil’s robes.

“The cucumber elf is trying to kill me…” he squeaked in Dwarvish “Mahal, I’m too young to die…”

“Legolas!” Thranduil’s eyebrows lowered a dark shadow upon his eyes, glaring at his son. “What are you **_doing?!_** ” 

There was a distant ‘aaaaw shit’ from the table, and all the focus turned to Legolas who looked about ready to have a stroke.

“Adar, he _hit_ me!” cried Legolas, a fierce gesture to his chin where the gem had struck him. Sounding more like a petulant child than the prince of the Woodland Realm, unrestrained anger flashed within his eyes. Thorin took one look at that and buried his face in his hands, still holding a fair bit of Thranduil’s robe.

The Elvenking froze, a deathly snarl to his words. 

“What did you do to him.”

Legolas did the biggest double take of his life and waved his finger with violent sass.

“Excuuuuuuuuuuuuuuse me? What did _I_ do to _him_?!” It was ridiculously abhorrent for his own father to prize someone else’s wellbeing over his own. After all, Legolas was his most beloved, spoilt little treasure. Such a transgression in behavior was unprecedented. “Did you not _see_ what happened??” he shrieked, his gestures becoming more flamboyant and aggressive.

“I’m half blind you little shit, of course I didn’t see.” is what Thranduil would have said, had he less control over his words. Instead, he remarked with “Oh please. Would you look at him? He’s no taller than this chair, I highly doubt he’d be able to strike you so far up.”

Legolas growled. “The coward’s hiding. He threw this gem at me.” He produced the sapphire from his pocket, which the elves recognized as a normal decoration found in many of the guest rooms.

“Not surprising.” Thranduil walked over to Legolas, Thorin meekly following behind him. His cold, thin fingers gripped his son by the jaw and forced his head to tilt backwards as he examined the bruise. “He has good aim…” he muttered, before trailing his finger across the red mark to heal it. It took only a few seconds, and when he was done he yanked Legolas’s head back into position a little harder than necessary. Tauriel didn’t miss the force behind the King’s motions and could sense the deep, poisonous anger within him. Very slowly, she began to back away. Thranduil paid her no mind and focussed all his attention on Legolas. Now Legolas, being a young elf used to plenty of affection and fussing, had grown accustomed to his father’s attentive gaze. But this look was something he’d never seen before. Sure, he’d pissed him off before. But never like this.

When Thranduil spoke, his cold words matched the steely grey of his eyes.

“You will tell me what you have done, lest I enter your mind and force the information from you myself. You shall hold no secrets from your King, Legolas. Everyone knows this.”

The mere thought of having certain things revealed disarmed Legolas in seconds. Normally, he and his father were so close there was absolutely nothing hidden from the other. But as of late, Legolas had needed to keep some things close. To have his mind probed now… would prove troublesome.

“He… was going after Tauriel…” Legolas admitted, and was about to continue when Thranduil threw his hands up in the air.

“Ai, Elbereth Gilthoniel. Give me strength for my son…” he declared to the skies dramatically, shaking his head before resuming his aloof, haughty stance.

“Boy, I will not have your love for that elleth spark violence within my kingdom. You have earned yourself a highly tarnished reputation because of your actions. Now get out of my sight. _E’go._ (leave)”

Legolas gaped like a fish at his father’s words, having so much to say yet not the strength to say it. Without another sound, he turned on his heel and flounced off. Thranduil then breathed a heavy sigh, turning around to pick up Thorin before walking out.

 This time, Thorin didn’t object. He was far too rattled to even think about what had just happened. The Elvenking had protected him from the cu- Legolas. The Legolas. Who happened to be his son. Had he… favored Thorin, just then? Possibly even… saved his life? Quivering in Thranduil’s arms, he found this to be a rather familiar feeling. Yesterday, he’d had a similar experience. Only now, he had a chance to straighten himself out.

“Are you okay…?” Thranduil’s voice was soft, full of concern. He sat on a long bench nearby that seemed like a thin bed, letting Thorin sit in his lap. Legolas was far too irrational for his own good. Always quick to anger, just like his father and grandfather. Still, he was only a little over 700 years old. It was understandable, for him to be a brazen creature enslaved by love. At least, that’s how Thranduil thought of it. No matter how much he frowned upon it, he could not change his son’s emotions. But if those emotions lead to anyone being hurt, Thranduil needed to put a stop to it as soon as possible. He’d become far too acquainted with pain of all sorts to bother putting up with it for much longer.

Thorin looked up at Thranduil, no tears in his eyes this time. He nodded quietly and lowered his head, feeling somewhat ashamed that it had come to this. Here he was, sitting in the lap of the most dangerous person he’d ever known - make that the second dangerous. He now felt more comfortable with Thranduil than anyone else in the Woodland Realm - especially since he was the only one who could protect him from Legolas. Though he still had some doubts about Thranduil’s mental state (he’d felt raw power surge through Thranduil’s body the moment he grabbed Legolas and knew something was up), he no longer felt the desperate need to flee.

“I need to know if he hurt you…” said Thranduil, bracing his palm flat against Thorin’s back just in case he fell backwards. Thorin shook his head, and looked away to the left. Thranduil sighed, sensing truthfulness from the little dwarf. Thorin had seen much in the past 36 hours, and was probably confused about it all. He deserved an explanation, after all that had happened.

Thranduil wasn’t ready for it. Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legolas the cucumber rustles Thorin’s jimmies lmao  
> So yeah, my writing style is pretty informal and changes tone from time to time.  
> Trying to figure out how to explain Thranduil’s feels - I don’t understand him as well as I think I do. Hot damn.  
> Next Chapter: Thorin’s first week and the shenanigans he gets up to with the royal elf peeps. Possible plot dev. Also a few explanations in case I screwed up in this chapter. Thranduil tells a little lie. Stuff happens.  
> I’ve figured out something though. This story will have a choice of two endings.  
> ….that’s all. Top kek C:
> 
> (translations)  
> Adar - Father  
> Elleth - Female Elf  
> Mahal - Aulë, the creator of the dwarves. One of the Valar, like Varda (below)  
> Elbereth - Varda, the ‘queen of the stars’. Kinda like saying ‘jesus christ’ lel  
> E’go - I don’t know how to spell it but in the Desolation of Smaug Thranduil said it to Tauriel. Apparently it’s quite rude and means ‘begone’. The -o suffix makes it a command.


	4. White lies of pure starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really should have put a warning somewhere that said ‘if you like Legolas, stay away from this story’. What I make him into will disagree with 99% of everything, ever. Oh well. It’s a core story mechanic. Have fun lel
> 
> -CRACK-ISH CHAPTER-

 

“The vapors of the forest should have worn off by now. He’ll be more alert and focussed, possibly planning an escape.” Thranduil listened to Tauriel’s report, having asked her to keep watch of Thorin while he attended to urgent matters - regarding Thrain’s death. Stories and papers were being prepared to shift the blame away from the elves and onto the spiders - dwarves travelling in Mirkwood being eaten by giant spiders wasn’t such a far-fetched idea. The Elvenking knew what Erebor’s response would be to the death of their prince, and being suspicious of anything elven they would probably seek revenge for a ‘cleverly disguised assassination attempt’. Or something like that. Thranduil honestly didn’t know what they would do. So he took all precautions necessary to ensure it wasn’t his fault.

To Thorin, he’d said there was nothing more they could do for Thrain. That they tried, they failed, and he was sorry. Thorin had expected it, but still couldn’t hold back his grief. Thranduil gave him time alone, and left feeling guilty for having turned a murder into a pitiful tragedy. One where it would seem that Thranduil was the ‘good guy’, the one who’d tried to save Thrain’s life. It wasn’t the most terrible thing the king had done, but he saw the opportunity to raise Thorin’s opinion of him and took it.

He continued to listen, gazing with eyes half-lidded at Tauriel.

“He didn’t seem as talkative as he was yesterday, and paced the floors of his room for quite a while. You told him about his father, I presume?”

“Yes.” Thranduil nodded sternly, indicating the topic should not be pressed further. Tauriel changed the subject, and ventured into the murky waters of Thranduil’s mentality.

“Why do you keep Thorin so close?” she asked, taking an understanding tone to her voice “I know you won’t send him to Erebor, but raising the kid like he’s your own….” trailing off, she looked at Thranduil. He was silent, a remorseful look in his eyes. Sadness could be seen in those grey-green depths, and Tauriel knew the Elvenking had burdened himself with something.

“I cannot say, Tauriel. None who walk this earth may be trusted with such knowledge…” A quiet sigh left his lips, the weight of his thoughts bearing down on his shoulders. It became increasingly harder to hold himself in a confident position - all he wanted now was to slump into his throne and drown his sorrows in endless glasses of wine. Hiding his emotions was of paramount importance, something he’d done for his entire life. It did take a lot of energy to maintain his cool guise of perfection - and recently, he’d been exhausting his strength keeping up the barrier around his kingdom so nothing evil could get in. The Woodland Realm had many enchantments, some for temperature, some to prevent intruders, others to ward off corruption and darkness… All of them were Thranduil’s responsibility, although he had mages to help with the illusion magic that broadcast confusing images and psychedelic effects into the forest. He couldn’t keep doing this forever, but damn he was going to try. He had to protect his people. Failure was not an option.

“My lord…” Tauriel had stepped closer, having signalled something to the guards when Thranduil closed his eyes. “I owe this life of mine to you. Trust me, you may not. But I will offer you a listening ear and open heart if ever you are in need. I implore you, tell me what troubles your soul.”

A mirthless smile twitched at Thranduil’s lips, overwhelming despair emanating from his very being. Tauriel’s words reminded him of his wife. She hadn’t been so polite, but always got Thranduil to speak his mind to her and take the load off his back.

_“A darkened fëa will destroy even the strongest elves”_ she would say “ _I would tear my own heart out before I watched you fade from these thoughts.”_

Slowly, his dark eyelashes swept upwards and he gazed at Tauriel with a miserable, pleading look.

“Get me some wine. Then we shall talk.”

Tauriel knew Thranduil well enough to have anticipated this, and soon enough one of the guards came back with the wine she’d requested. She poured a large glass for Thranduil and handed it to him, sitting on the steps of his throne. Standing on the floor would mean the Elvenking had to raise his voice a little for her to hear - and what he was going to say needed to be whispered so softly even the keenest elf-ears would have trouble eavesdropping.

The first thing Thranduil did was drain his glass, and hold it out for another serving. Tauriel was patient, and did as requested. Then, she heard his voice.

“Legolas has not turned out as I expected.” His words held so much pain, it almost burned his lips to speak them. “I have tried to raise him, but in these dark times anyone exposed to the Greenwood’s corruption becomes changed. He is my son, and I love him, but as a father I have failed.”

Tauriel blinked, listening attentively. Where was all this coming from? She’d honestly had no idea, from the way Thranduil showered affection upon the prince.

“He is much like me, yet so strange in his ways. It is too early in his life to determine what he has become, but I fear the worst for my little leaf.” He took long sip of wine, a wandering elf in the distance catching his attention. How would he explain to Tauriel that he no longer understood his son, that he doubted Legolas’s sanity, and despised how aggressive he’d become. Thranduil would have turned out the same, had his father not sent him to the Noldor kingdom of Lindon to be mentored by Gil-Galad. Thranduil had learnt humility, acceptance and kindness from him. Leadership came with responsibility, and Thranduil had been taught how to be the best king for his people. Legolas now resembled Oropher more than Thranduil - he was brash and domineering, spoilt and snarky. Still a child (by most elven standards), he was immature, yet acted so high and mighty it was all Thranduil could to to keep him from sneaking into the forest to play soldier with the patrolling guards. Thranduil had let this happen. Allowed Legolas to turn into who he was. After all, the Elvenking couldn’t say no to him. Legolas was indeed his weakest spot - but with weakness came shame for Thranduil, and he started to distance himself from Legolas in order to weed out those little feelings.

“I must not be weak. Such a thing is intolerable.” he whispered, and Tauriel heard it. Despite not wanting to, Thranduil was exposing a side of raw emotion Tauriel had never seen before. She was sure nobody in existence had either. “Legolas is my responsibility, my failure, my downfall. I know where I am, yet I am lost.” The wine glass trembled in his fingers, nearly toppling over. How delicately he held it, with the same fear of breaking glass as his composure. The wine was some of his strongest, and his tongue had loosened enough - surely a few more glasses would drive the deep sorrow from within him and lighten his mood. Thranduil always hoped for that. Rarely did he stay conscious for long enough to remember what he felt.

He gasps a shuddering breath, shaking his head as if to clear the troubling thoughts from his mind. Tauriel stares intensely, thinking _‘is he going to cry?’_ while trying to make sense of his previous words. Thranduil wasn’t nearly drunk enough to curl into a ball and sob like a child, nor could he actually cry proper tears since his tear ducts had been burnt to a crisp centuries ago. He gulped down the last of his wine, continuing his speech as the glass was refilled.

“Whatever shall I do… about my troublesome little Legolas? Oh, Tauriel. You know not of how I’ve suffered as I think of him every night and day. Sleepless, I yearn for him to be righted - what have I done wrong?” His words had begun to blend together, but since it was all smoothly flowing Elvish it sounded fairly similar. “I cannot do a thing. Maybe if I raise Thorin for the remainder of his youth, he will become a good person who… who will live to do great things… someone… I can be proud of… and….” he couldn’t bring himself to say the next few words.

_Someone to call my own._

To Tauriel, it sounded as if the Elvenking was disowning his son. Not that she blamed him - she didn’t like Legolas at all. From her adoption into the royal family, Legolas had seen her as inferior and subordinate to him - he would never say it to her face, but he didn’t consider her anything more than a lowly wood-elf. Her body attracted him, as did her skills in battle and gentle mannerisms when speaking to others. How he admired her so. She was nice to everyone but him, and it wasn’t fair. So, for 500 years he made her life hell as he tried to get as close as he could. Simulated friendship was the fallacy they played by - but when alone with each other, it was nothing short of a battle when a disagreement arose. Which 90% of their conversations consisted of. Tauriel had learnt that elves could feel hatred when she met Legolas. Now, she felt sympathy for the Elvenking. 

She had dealt with his son for most of her life - they were of similar age and Tauriel was adopted very young - and couldn’t possibly begin to imagine the sorrows Thranduil felt when considering the effects of his fantastic parenting on Legolas. Hell, she would feel sorry for anyone who had to deal with that. 

Now she understood why Thranduil drank so much. At least, she thought she did. Aside from horrific flashbacks of death and dragonfire, war and wrath - Thranduil mostly tried to distract himself from his epic fail at raising his only son.

Thranduil seemed to be done, and looked at Tauriel with a face that said _‘Well?’_

Tauriel bowed her head, thanking him for confiding in her. She stood to take her leave, but Thranduil made a grab for her hair. She felt the air woosh past and turned, seeing a desperate Elvenking reaching out to her. Her expression softened and she held Thranduil’s hand, helping him to stand with her. Thranduil didn’t want to be seen in his current state - like melted chocolate sliding down the side of a mountain, sticky if you got involved and needing to be cleaned up. Soon enough he was resting in one of the airy, cavernous rooms within the palace, one with a hot spring jacuzzi in the floor and several twisting pillars holding up a ceiling of sparkling crystal. Tauriel watched him for a while, having gotten the explanation of a lifetime to what she assumed had been a simple question. Nothing was ever simple when it came to Thranduil, she decided.

Thranduil had been looking more tired as of late, and a few elves had begun to notice. Tauriel now knew it was more than just keeping his realm pure amidst the evil in the forest - but it saddened her to think there was nothing she could do. She wanted to help him, lift the mist from his gaze and see the powerful Elvenking she knew was hidden somewhere behind the seas of endless calm.

Perhaps there was something she could do. She could assist him with Thorin. After all, if Thranduil alone tried to raise an unruly little dwarf, something worse than Legolas might result. Tauriel knew how to act around children. She could do this. Finally, she could be useful to her King. 

 

~

 

A few hours after their meeting, Tauriel went to check up on Thranduil. She found him in exactly the same position she’d left him, lying on his side with the grand drapery of his thick silver robes spread out all around. He seemed to have passed out, because he definitely wasn’t reacting to the little dwarfling sitting beside him on the bench, plaiting his long silvery blonde hair into schoolgirl-style pigtails. Tauriel stifled a giggle and forgot to be horrified for a moment - Thranduil _never_ let anyone touch his hair, for it was very sensitive… and his hairstyle now made him look the least bit a King anyone in the Woodland Realm could possibly appear. Unintentional disrespect aside, Thorin had heard Tauriel’s intake of breath instead of her elf-light footsteps and quickly hid himself behind Thranduil’s thin form, curled up close to his body.

“Aw, it’s okay. Don’t be afraid, it’s just me.” she smiled, picking up one of the braids which had a most dwarven construction to it, carefully measured sections of hair woven together with a tight knot at the end. It intrigued her to how Thorin could even do something like this - she herself hadn’t learnt how to braid hair until a century after Thranduil found her.

“It’s the King’s braid of Erebor…” Thorin smiled back at her a little wistfully, thinking of how Thror had his hair done at the back like this. It made him feel a little more comfortable with Thranduil, even if he hadn’t done the style exactly right. “Reminds me of home.”

Tauriel felt a little twinge of regret deep within - she’d just heard Thranduil pour his heart out on how he needed a new son and here Thorin was missing his family, as expected of one so young and recently confronted with loss. She didn’t know what to say, but in lieu of an awkward silence she told Thorin “It’s understandable. You’ll come to think of our realm as home soon enough.”

Thorin frowned at this, playing with a few strands of hair in his fingers. Tauriel saw the opportunity to explain things, and continued.

“The King keeps you here for your safety, and does not want an innocent little guy like you to get hurt on the dangerous journey out of the forest to Erebor. He really only wants the best for you, and wants to protect you, Thorin.”

Listening intently, Thorin thought about it. He could gather some sense from the ‘journey out of the forest’ being dangerous - he’d heard of the spiders, seen the deadly elves, and was now CAPTURED by those very same elves… but Thranduil, wanting to protect him? For what reason would an elf want to do anything like that for a dwarf? As he opened his mouth to ask the question, Thranduil stirred. Tauriel’s face went as white as the Arkenstone and she left the room, calling out “He’ll explain everything!” before vanishing from sight.

“Urghhh…” Thranduil groaned, a shiver running through his body. He felt rather strange, like his head was being squeezed and bound by several thick ropes. How it ached, and sent uncomfortable tingles down his spine. “What….” he muttered, propping himself up on one arm. He then became aware of a small presence behind him, almost squished into the back of the sofa-bed.

_‘Wait, WHAAAAAAAT?!’_ Panic shot through his mind as he saw a long, thick braid drop down over his shoulder like a silver centipede going straight under his collar and he yelped, gripping at his head and curling into a ball. “Nooooooope nope nope nope” came the muffled chanting from his lips, mouth dry and eyes wide open.

“Wh-what’s wrong?!” Thorin squeaked, shaking him by the shoulder. Thranduil froze, slowly turning to stare into a pair of worried blue eyes. He now knew why he felt like his head was tied with razor wire. Thorin had plaited his hair. Rather tightly too, it seemed.

“Th..Thorin…..” shocked and stiff all over, Thranduil moved to sit up properly. His head spun, and dizziness threatened to send him to the floor. “Why… did you…”

“Aaaah, I’m sorry!” Thorin apologized, that familiar fear of elves striking deep in his heart “I was booooored and please don’t murder me--”

Thranduil flapped his hands about and shushed Thorin, wincing at the pain now turning into a dull ache with a load of other odd feelings thrown in. The air stilled, Thorin’s heart beating so fast Thranduil could hear it. Slowly, the Elvenking moved his slender fingers into a clasp around one of the braids. He shivered, examining the knot at the end. In a single motion, he undid it, and his voluminous silken hair burst free. As he worked on the other one, he said to Thorin, “None are permitted to touch my hair. Under no circumstances must you do such a thing.”

Thorin, a little annoyed that his hard work had been undone but still on guard, humphed a breath out.

“But whyyyyy?” he whined, pulling his knees up to his chest and glaring a little “Your hair looks cool, and unbraided it makes you seem like a commoner…”

Thranduil sighed and shook his head, the rest of his hair joining into its usual shimmering flow. 

“I’ll let that remark pass for now - but you must understand, my hair has feeling in it and it feels like death when anyone touches it. Also, my hair indicates my status among elves. Only the King may have his hair open like this. Everyone else gets it tied. Okay?”

Thorin thought on this, and looked away. Why were all of Thranduil’s arguments so cohesive, with no room for rebuttal? Oh well. At least he wasn’t trying to slice Thorin’s neck off. At least he wasn’t Legolas.

Still, the dwarf felt an unexpected urge to grab Thranduil’s hair and mess it up - damn guy looked far too perfect to even be alive, even with a slight hangover and redness to his cheeks. A trollface overtook his expression and he reached for the king’s hair, long enough that it was easily reachable even when Thranduil stood. Thranduil made a strange noise and jerked back, almost falling off the sofa.

“Do not!” he growled, a guarded look upon him.

Thorin pouted, looking away. How he loved to tease people, no matter what their status. It seemed he couldn’t have much fun with the elves, seeing as he didn’t fully trust them yet and they could snap at any time - maybe they could even shoot fire out of their creepy pointed ears! Now imagining what else they could do, Thorin was distracted. In that moment, Thranduil rose to his feet and unsteadily walked off. It happened so quickly and quietly that by the time Thorin finished a thought, he was alone.

“Damn it…” he mused, suddenly remembering why he had come into this room.

He’d been hiding from Legolas, who swore to slit his throat for humiliating him.

Suddenly, Thorin was afraid.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I was so, so close to writing a Thranduil/Tauriel relationship into this. Jesus christ. Hurt/Comfort pairings screw with my resolve to make a completely romance-free story. Oh well. I’ll write it and keep it somewhere private nyehehe-  
> Anyway here’s the plot (I tried to make a comprehensive description of wat is going on)
> 
> Thranduil feels he’s raised Legolas to be a failure and puts all the blame on himself. He feels he can right his wrongs if he has Thorin around and lets him grow up to be a better person. Sure, Thranduil loves Legolas but the kid’s so far gone in his own world Thrandy just doesn’t feel connected with him any more. Thranduil really does love children, like most older elves, and finds Thorin to be a challenging but adorable little addition to his life. Now Thranduil doesn’t hate the dwarves of Erebor, because they had no part in the tragedy that befell the Sindar King Thingol way back in the First Age. Thranduil has gotten over despising the dead, and now lives a somewhat peaceful life - even with Sauron lurking in his forest. Anyway, Thranduil doesn’t want Thorin to die - and if he goes back to Erebor, he probably will. So Thranduil has some new company and it’s just like he got a second chance at parenting. Mlergh, this concept.
> 
> Btw if you’ve ever seen Hetalia, you’ll know the feeling Thranduil gets when his hair is touched. XD


	5. Dramatical Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because anything resembling a family gathering will involve shit hitting the fan like never before. Over-the-top aggression and soppy feelings as well. And Legolas. Or should I say…. /Neglectolas?/ Ehehuehehue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t sure if I should post this chapter, and even now as I’m going to write it (yes I write the notes before I make the chapter) I’m considering leaving some stuff out in case people are like ‘WUT.’ I have a tendency to go really hardcore with awkward situations and snapping characters - hmm maybe I will tone it down-- See? That’s what I mean. Oh boy. This is gonna be intense. Hope I can pull it off :v  
> Tw: offscreen abuse

 

A week had passed since Thorin’s arrival in the Woodland Realm. Thranduil had been busy making sure everything was as safe as could be - it took him several days to compose the barrier enchantments he placed along the winding pathways of his halls. Elves could balance perfectly and even elflings would not fall over the high, thin curves of rock. Thorin, however… had tripped over his long robes a few times and Thranduil, having doubts in his mind was concerned he might stray off the paths now and then. Cue magic, so strong it was an invisible wall along every path, and so great in quantity that Thranduil was exhausted at the end of the day as he secretly maintained it himself.He had also recieved a messenger from Erebor, one asking about Thrain. The excuses and apologies had been sent, Thranduil sending some casual room decoration gems as a peace offering. He hoped Thror would appreciate them as much as Thorin did. Ah, dwarves.

As a result of Thranduil’s usual kingly duties and new tasks pertaining to his redemption project, he hadn’t been paying much attention to Legolas or Tauriel for the past few days. He was simply too busy, and a week was less than a blink in the life of an elf… right?

 

~

 

The sun dipped towards the horizon, a golden light casting long shadows throughout the open dining room within the palace. Carven chairs of beechwood sat around a long table, designed to seat up to twenty but most often used for three. Thranduil sat at the head of the table, Thorin beside him atop several cushions so he could reach his plate. Legolas and Tauriel were also present, their quiet voices engaged in serious discussion. Dinner was a simple thing amongst the royal family, a few fine meals here and there with five-star-restaurant-quality service. Normally, there would be talk of politics and future plans at this time - but today, Thranduil was content to gaze out the large window to his left and pick at the leaves on his plate. Dale _still_ hadn’t come through with their meat delivery, he thought absentmindedly. Perhaps the people of lake-town were intercepting the boats and stealing it. He wouldn’t put it past them to do anything to save money. Yet his kingdom could not survive without their continued trade.

His thoughts of thieving fishermen and lost steak were interrupted by Thorin’s small voice asking from beside him - “Is this all you guys eat?”

Smiling, he shook his head. Elves were generally thought of as vegetarian, but in Mirkwood there was so much fighting going on that a high-energy diet was necessary.

“No, there’s usually any type of meat or bread you can think of available. The people we trade with haven’t sent us anything recently.”

Thorin made an “ahh” sound of understanding, then added “I was wondering why you were all so thin. Eheh.”

The Elvenking nearly snorted into his wine and quickly drew the glass from his lips, an amused grin lighting up his face. “It’s just how we are, fabulous by nature.”

Now it was Thorin’s turn to grin and he giggled at Thranduil, who now made a fancy pose with the wine glass between two fingers and his eyes half-lidded as if judging the two elves at the other end of the table. Tauriel caught a glimpse of that face and nearly inhaled a piece of bread. Legolas merely rolled his eyes and focussed his attentions back to his conversation partner.

Thranduil thought back to that missing meat for a moment. He didn’t want to deprive a growing child of something necessary to build one’s strength. If Dale didn’t up their postage game soon, he would have to venture out and get it himself. It was important, since he couldn’t acquire meat from anywhere else. He wasn’t fond of eating animals killed in the wild, he preferred when they were bred for that sort of thing. At least they knew where their lives were going.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” asked Thorin, gesturing with his fork to Tauriel, making sure not to appear hostile to Legolas who surely wouldn’t appreciate fork-pointing by a dwarf. Thranduil tilted his head to the side as he often did, his ears tuning into the conversation nearby. All in Sindarin elvish, he could hear quite well what they spoke of. It seemed to be a hushed argument, regarding Thorin. And they were careful not to use his name, referring instead to ‘the Naugrim’. Thranduil noted that Tauriel was saying something weird, ‘Naugriôn’. _‘Dwarf-Son?’_ Really? It seemed to be pissing Legolas off; there was a dark aura seeping from the prince’s chair that had to be more than indigestion.

“There is only _one_ son of Thranduil and that is me!” growled Legolas, sinking his teeth into half a tomato as if it were Tauriel’s face. She took note of that, apt as ever - and toned her trolling down a little. Legolas hadn’t changed for the better; his father’s concerns were definitely justified and Tauriel wanted to know what had gone so wrong. The prince had always been a brat, but in the past fifty years he’d become somewhat… savage. Like the spiders, or man-eating rabbits of Mirkwood. Come to think of it, Legolas did resemble an angry rabbit when he snarled, his lips curling around his teeth and tufts of blonde hair puffing out. Tauriel didn’t realize she was smiling until Legolas called her out on it.

“Ah, they are talking about something very important.” Thranduil told Thorin, vaguely answering a child who would not take that as final.

“But what?” asked Thorin, and Thranduil anticipated it the moment his own sentence ended.

“Elf stuff.” Another flighty answer zipped about Thorin’s head, and he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Thranduil couldn’t help but find it incredibly cute, and patted Thorin’s head affectionately. “Legolas and Tauriel do a lot of important ‘elf stuff’ you don’t need to worry about.’

Thorin was about to mutter something about surprise assassinations when a voice from the middle of the table caught both his and Thranduil’s attention.

“Oh, the Great King finally decides to notice us.”

In a language Thorin understood, and tone Thranduil didn’t appreciate, Legolas had a sarcastic look painted across his features as he pretended to be speaking to Tauriel alone.

Thranduil sighed. “I heard that, iôn nîn.”

With a smirk on his face, Legolas folded his arms. “I thought you were so busy with your new pet that you wouldn’t notice.”

Thorin frowned at him, feeling a little hurt. Just when he was beginning to understand how the Elvenking thought of him (a guardian, protective figure, strange but nice guy…), the possibility arose that he could be a thing just kept for Thranduil’s amusement. Furthermore, Legolas had spoken in the Common Tongue with the intent to take a shot at Thorin. The dwarf turned to look at Thranduil, slight confusion and hopelessness beaming through his innocent blue eyes. Thranduil held stiff tension in his broad shoulders, eyes wide as usual while he stared at Legolas. He was a little nearsighted sometimes, especially when tired. Right now, he was absolutely done with his son’s shit.

And it hadn’t even started.

Quietly, Thranduil took a sip of wine and blinked, the slow sweep of his dark eyelashes giving him time to shield his appearance from displaying any anger whatsoever.

‘ _No’_ , he told himself. _‘This isn’t rational. Legolas is merely jealous. It is understandable. You should not feel this way. But….. His actions are unacceptable.’_  

“I warn you, Legolas. You test your limits.” The tone of voice he held was one that suggested immediate compliance - shut the hell up and apologize. But Legolas sneered and gave his father a superior glare with his head inclined upwards, looking down his nose at the face of an emotionless Elvenking.

“Oh, so I have limits now? You’ve taken everything from me. You don’t let me go outside, nor train in weapons with the guards, and you want to remove my right to free speech?” 

At the prince’s words, Tauriel facepalmed so hard her hand nearly phased through her head.

‘ _You piece of shit’_ she thought, exasperation and dread settling over her body ‘ _You’ve really done it now…’_

Thranduil stopped breathing. His pupils dilated to tiny dots and clear anguish flashed across his face before it was buried under heavy layers of… was that disgust? Thorin sank down into his chair, for there wasn’t a very nice feeling coming from Thranduil, not at all. He could see the elf’s slender hand clenched so hard around the stem of his wine glass that the knuckles looked about ready to break skin. With his face drained of all colour (not that it had much to begin with) and unreadable emotion in his eyes, Thranduil grit his teeth.

“Legolas.” His voice was strained, the normally eloquent tones of his articulation completely lost. “I-”

“Don’t even try to spin your sad tale of protection on me again. It’s all folly.” 

Tauriel gasped. _Nobody_ interrupted the King’s speech. Not even Legolas, who had picked up a fork and was twirling it in his fingers with the dexterity of a knifethrower. 

Thorin could sense something was seriously wrong with what had just happened, and sank further out of view. Those cushions he sat on were so bouncy, they would not swallow him up. He began to toy with a lock of his long hair, fear dripping into his eyes. He expected Thranduil to vault across the table and start rabidly tearing the room apart, for what reason he couldn’t exactly pinpoint - but the Elvenking did no such thing. Instead, he finished the last of his wine and set the glass down, carefully relaxing his tense hands from fists into flatness.

“If you do not wait for an explanation, you shall never understand. Do you prefer the blissful idiocy of believing this falsity your addled mind has created?” Nobody with any sense would believe such things - had Thranduil not tried and given Legolas the best life anyone could wish for? They lived in a dangerous place. They had no choice. Thranduil could not bear to see his son hurt for anything, and always offered more than the boy asked for. What more could he do?

Thranduil felt lost. That familiar sense of distance approached, so brutal and cold when Legolas looked upon him with eyes of what? Mistrust? Disgust? Wanderlust? Or even….. Hatred?

The nopes began within his mind as Legolas’s reply passed over his head. His son couldn’t hate him. Thranduil loved Legolas more than life itself. He had never hurt him. He had always, always protected him even when it wasn’t necessary. Cautious, caring and not as stern as he should have been.

“Adar! Are you even listening to me? Gosh, you won’t even dignify me with an understanding, will you?” Legolas’s shrill voice whined from a distant spot and Thranduil snapped out of his thoughts, the misery of his soul bursting from his eyes the second he opened them - and it stayed just long enough for Legolas to call him out on it.

“Don’t look so goddamn depressed. If you’re guilty for being a terrible parent, it’s not my fault.”

Tauriel could hardly bear it, how she needed to take the fork in Legolas’s hand and remove his eyeballs with it. Valar, no elf had the right to grief another like this. What the hell was he _doing_?

‘ _What terrible sins I have committed against you, iôn nîn.’_ Thranduil thought, his gaze wavering between downcast and defiant. He was trying ever so hard to control it, yet nothing was going how he wished. _‘I have ruined you. I know not of what went wrong. I tried, I believed, I love you… Why do you speak against me so………. Ngh.’_

“You really should get rid of the dwarf kid, too. He’ll meet the same fate as the others soon enough, what with you keeping him here and playing dad. You won’t do a very good job, let me tell you-” the prince was interrupted by Tauriel who slammed her hand on the table in frustration.

“Damn you to Dol Guldur, Legolas would you SHUT UP?!” she had switched into Elvish, prompting Legolas to do the same as he launched into a rapid tirade of angered Sindarin.

“Oh fuck off! Look at how close they are, and it’s obvious Adar killed the kid’s dad just so he could kidnap him and do all this dodgy shit that never should have happened-” he gestured violently to Thorin with one hand, the other holding the fork as if ready to stab. Thorin didn’t understand a word and squeaked in fright, unable to move as the gravity of the situation held him frozen in place.Legolas’s sharp ears picked the sound up immediately and almost reflexively (but with carefully calculated precision…) he threw the fork in his hand straight at Thorin, the triple pronged silver whirling through the air. Thorin gasped, a choked cry escaping him. Blood filled his vision, yet it was not his own. Droplets of crimson red ran down the pale hand in front of him, in warm rivulets ending by Thranduil’s wrist. The fork had gone right through his hand, his silent motion quicker than light having saved Thorin’s forehead from a painful doom. Now _those_ were elven reflexes.

Thranduil’s face was stone, hard and white with no sign of life other than the slightest twitch beneath his left eye. 

“Legolas…” he breathed, his voice pitched high in delirium as he stood from his seat “Outside. **_Now._** ” 

When Legolas did not move, his face suddenly ashen grey - he knew he was screwed, and his mood had broken - Thranduil calmly picked the fork out of his hand, sliding it through the severed muscles spasming in agony. He set it on the table, paying no heed to the thickening stream of blood seeping out of his hand. The Elvenking had spoken, and was stalking towards his son with a dead look on his face, something beastly and horrifying in those cold grey eyes. Legolas jumped to his feet and his self-preservation instincts kicked in; despite being immortal he still feared what any sane creature would - he was currently locked eyes with a being who wasn’t. There was no escape. Thranduil was so fast, so alert and so intensely focussed - his bloody hand shot out with the same speed as before, this time catching Legolas around the neck. Tauriel would have ran to Thorin and covered his eyes, but luckily Thranduil carried Legolas like a man hung out of the room. Legolas could not fight back. Thranduil had _paralyzed_ him.

 

“Son of a bitch…” Tauriel muttered, standing from the table now that the other elves had left “Thorin, you probably don’t want to hear what’s about to-” her voice cut short at the sound of a resounding _CRACK!_ from the room opposite, followed by a heavy thump. The walls were rock, but the doors were wood. Those elf-ears of Legolas’s would not survive this tirade.

Thorin’s eyes widened as the fear in his eyes struck deep in his heart, the sounds from the other room more terrifying than anything he’d never witnessed. Screaming erupted in a deep, rumbling assault of furious elvish, the voice so wrathful in its outrage one could hardly believe it belonged to the normally serene Elvenking. Thranduil unleashed an incoherent howl as he mercilessly struck Legolas with his words, so dire were they that Legolas’s shrieking cries could be understood as pleas even without knowing the language.

“YOU DARE! YOU DARE DO THIS TO ME!” he roared, trembling with rage and raw power surging through his veins “YOU UNGRATEFUL , FERAL CREATURE! YOU SHAME ME, LEGOLAS! YOU DAAAAAAAAAAARE!” Another loud crack echoed from the room and Thorin winced - he realized Thranduil was hitting Legolas, literally whacking him across the face hard enough to send him to the ground. How the hell could anyone be that strong, and for that matter, emotionally unstable? Both Thorin and Tauriel were firmly reminded that Thranduil was in fact still a mystery - although Tauriel found Legolas deserving of his punishment, Thorin saw it as harsh and cruel. He definitely did not want to piss off Thranduil now. Just what went on in that head of his…? His eyes drifted to the fork beside him, and it shone slick with elven blood so thin it had spread onto the table cloth in a small circle.

“YOU TRIED TO KILL HIM!” yelled Thranduil, not hearing anything other than the voices in his head telling him he had failed. That he was weak, but could prove his strength now. He had power, hidden and suppressed. Deep down he knew. But he was very, very afraid. Could he discipline his son? After all this time, would he be able to have some control over the boy’s actions? He loved him. He worried for him. And when he snapped, he almost slaughtered him.

Legolas would never look at him the same after this day.

But had he learnt anything at all?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iôn nîn : My son  
> Naugrim: Stunted Person aka Dwarf  
> Adar: Father  
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
> PSYCHO LEGOLAS and cray cray Thrandy. What is going on.
> 
> How does dinner even work. I haven’t eaten dinner in years lmao. In order to get my bearings here I went and re-read the fic ‘The New King of Erebor’ by Dwarfsmut. Valar, how I love that fic. Wish I could write intimacy like that. Welp. Dinner is served. And Legolas continues to be an anus. Expect more drama and maybe creepiness (promised creepiness midway through the story) in future chapters. YEY.  
> Also don’t mind my bullshit compounding of Elvish words. I love messing with linguistics, so there’s some Sindarin Derping in here. THIS FRIGGEN CHAPTER. The end is crap I know but MLEH it’s 12am and my vision’s as clear as Thrandy’s. Lel. I had to end it here. I can't let myself continue or Leggy would end up half dead.  
> Also Thranduil really hates being disrespected. Idk if you got that from his rambling lol.  
> Next Chapter: Thranduil tries to fix things, because so much has been broken in his life. Where’s the emotional superglue, bro?


	6. Sticky Emotions and Solid Bullshit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This friggen chapter. Lawdy lawd. Very hard to write and I tried a new emotional technique - I think I failed. Kek. When Thranduil tries to fix things and the plot thickens as if adding flour to blood. Here we go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations first because they’re important.  
> Iôn nîn : My Son  
> Aran nîn : My King  
> Ada : Daddy (lel childlike regression up ahead)  
> Díheno nín : Forgive me

A day has passed.

Legolas was nowhere to be found by Thranduil, instead keeping to the shadows and moaning in pain like a ghost begging for sympathy. He was healed soon enough, but the mental scars did not fade so easily. Tauriel looked after Thorin, keeping him safe as Thranduil suddenly took to wandering alone for hours on end. His mind screwed with him and there was no end to his problems. So he went to the only place he knew he could find peace. His own private garden.

When the Greenwood had flourished and no darkness had touched the lands, Thranduil who at the time lived in the south at the capital of Amon Lanc often journeyed north where he could be alone. Most of the elves lived in the south, and so for Thranduil to go so far he was often missing for weeks on end. Oropher had known where he’d gone, but he still worried. Now Thranduil had found little spaces near a mountain, the same mountain he delved his halls in for safety in the Third Age. These spaces were small, beautiful areas of lush green, thick blankets of woodland flowers spread all around with a lake or river running through. Thranduil practiced his magic here, preserving the areas so no matter what happened, rain, wind, fire or evil - he would always have his little sanctuaries. As the Greenwood became Mirkwood, his people were slain and Sauron took his capital, Thranduil moved into that mountain and gave his people access to the gardens, so they might feel they lived in the peaceful Greenwood once more. Strong magic kept Mirkwood’s darkness out, and when inside one of the environments the sky was always clear, weather nice and calm, and looking out into the forest from within it had the illusion of a healthy woodland alive with all sorts of things. The boundary could not be passed, for if anyone dared to see past the illusion and stick their head into the reality of Mirkwood it wouldn’t end well.

And so, Thranduil went to his garden, where he went to ‘sleep’ under the stars at night when stress took him to the edge - Elves didn’t sleep, but they meditated in a manner that restored energy and vitality - and sat down in the grass, running his fingers through the soft green. His gaze floated about, the path before him lined with tall oak trees and white blossoms he knew the illusion provided. Still, he breathed the scent of spring and felt his spirit refreshed with every passing second.

“Sup, Aran nîn?” A small voice from beside Thranduil caught his attention, and he turned to see one of his orchids swaying in the warm breeze. Smiling, he tilted one of the pale leaves up with a finger. “Same as usual. You know how it is.”

All subjects of Thranduil’s Realm could communicate with nature in some way or another. The Silvan elves, as wild and dangerous as the winds up in the trees could sense the emotions within the forest, hear the voices of nature and learn secrets passed through all sorts of plant material. The Sindar, however… Legolas and Thranduil, being of royal lineage and superior blood could both hear the voices and speak back, with the ability to hold conversations with trees, animals, flowers and anything with life in it. Furthermore, they could command movements from nature such as trees dropping branches or an Elk chauffeuring them throughout the forest. All the elves could magically restore things, but only Thranduil could bring the dead back to life. So it was that he kept all his plants, his favourite orchids as friends alive for all eternity, never once needing to be lonely again. This particular orchid he spoke to was one he had owned for three thousand years, acting as his counsel from the beginning of the Third Age. Oropher had given it to him, for the elf had known death would take him in the Battle of the Last Alliance. He didn’t want to leave his son completely alone.

“You seem a little down. Is everything alright?” it asked, waving those long petals over Thranduil’s finger as if resting a hand on his shoulder in comfort. Thranduil sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“There’s something wrong with Legolas… and I hurt him yesterday.”

The orchid thought for a moment, then said “But he deserved it, didn’t he? I can sense that he kinda did….”

The Elvenking nodded, gazing at the beauty of all his flowers behind this one. “He tried to kill Thorin, the dwarf I told you about the other day. Legolas is still behaving like a little brat, I can’t help but feel it’s my fault…”

“Hey…” said the orchid, a soft tone to its ethereal voice in Thranduil’s mind “I’ve told you before… you don’t need to feel so bad about this. So your kid’s an ass. That’s how they are! He’s only what, three hundred years old? He’ll mature with time. Just let him be.”

Thranduil pondered the fact for a moment that he was taking the advice of a thing without a brain, smiling wistfully. How long had it been since he’d actually _listened_ to another? Only recently had he troubled Tauriel with his problems. But he had never truly taken the words of anyone else to heart. His citizens didn’t come to him with problems, for they feared their King’s heart was nearing its limits. No elf was made to sustain such burdens upon their tender soul. Yet Thranduil endured.

“I thank you for your advice…” said he, running fingers along the length of his hair “But this is one problem that, if I ignore it…. It will not go away.”

The flower seemed to nod, tilting to the side as if in thought. Its voice was silent.

 

Thranduil stood and stretched, slowly walking with measured grace to the path that lead deep inside his kingdom. Seeking the presence of his son, he found it in no other place than a private garden, much like his own but reserved for Legolas only. He carefully craned his neck around the side of the rocky archway and peered in, spotting a green figure sitting hunched on the grass a few meters away. His legs were crossed, hair shadowing his face.

“Legolas…” With smooth steps and a cool tone, Thranduil approached the prince. Said prince didn’t move, although a tightening in his shoulders could be observed. Thranduil frowned slightly, tilting his head to the side.

“Iôn nîn?” He knelt beside Legolas, taking a closer look at his face. Legolas’s eyes were blank, the muscles of his face slack. Furthermore, there was a lightness to his sky-blue irises Thranduil hadn’t seen since his son had been an elfling. He stared at nothing, unfocussed, as if departed from this world. Now alarmed, Thranduil shook him by the shoulders with more force than necessary. 

“Legolas?! Are you okay? Say something!” But the reaction he got was one he feared greatly. Legolas _flinched_ , curling into himself and pulling his hands to his chest. His soft blue eyes now wide with terror, he stared into his father’s eyes. Thranduil let go of him immediately, his hands dropping to the ground. Bent over and leaning closer, Thranduil read every emotion across the boy’s face. Never before had he seen such complexity in his dear little son. Legolas was afraid. His slender body shook with minute trembles, eyes forced open to a degree where tears had begun to form within. Everything about his posture screamed protection, wariness and a guarded heart.

_‘No…’_ Thranduil chided himself ‘ _You have done this to him… You hit him… he fears you…’_

“Please, Iôn nîn I… I am…” Legolas finished the sentence for him by mouthing the words himself. “ _Sorry._ ” Almost immediately he put his hands over his mouth, as if speaking mere apologies would bring wrath and ruin upon him. Thranduil could take no more and pulled his son into a crushing hug, sending them both to the ground.

“Díheno nín, díheno nín…” the Elvenking whispered, holding Legolas close to his chest and begging for forgiveness. Legolas stopped shivering after a time and slowly looked up to his father, telling him “No. The fault is mine.”

Thranduil paled, his heart sinking as the realization set in. His son blamed _himself_ , his young, impressionable self, for all that Thranduil had done wrong. For the King’s own failures, his mishaps and affectionate overdoses… Legolas thought himself responsible?

“How can you say that, iôn nîn…?” Thranduil cried, desperation in his deep grey eyes “I have raised you, ruined you, loved you and I still do. Everything that has happened… is a result of me. Never… ever… blame yourself…”

Legolas, despite disagreeing with everything that was said, quietly listened before hugging his father back, burying his face in his chest. He could hear Thranduil’s tender heart fluttering in distress, and felt a tidal wave of guilt wash over his conscience, drowning in regret. He had done something. And his father felt responsible. Why, Valar, did this have to happen to him?

“I cannot say…” started Legolas, unsure of how to word things “But know you are not in the wrong. You are my Ada…” he squeezed even tighter, his warm embrace now that of a kitten thrown overboard and clinging for life “...and you are never wrong.”

Thranduil not for one second thought that something had happened - that the fault could belong to another person. He continued to believe in his own guilt, confused and with dire need for redemption.

“It is my duty to protect you, Legolas… I have failed… how can I not be in the wrong, as you say…?”

Legolas smiled bitterly and looked up again.

“I am not an elfling, you know… I can look after myself.” At this, Thranduil thought back to when his son had come crying into his arms for fear of a little spider or perhaps sight of what seemed to be a dead body in the forest. How his son had needed him. Adored him. Cherished him. _Loved._

“You will always be my elfling, my little green leaf…” said Thranduil, a sombre look on his face. Very gently, he brought his hand to his son’s face and trailed a finger down his pale, soft cheek. So light was his touch, Legolas could barely feel it. But he knew he was still loved, despite all he had done. And it hurt. Exceedingly so.

Thranduil wondered how he had managed to catch his son in such a mood. He was as he had been before the darkness took him. Light at heart, carefree and pure, with a joyful innocence behind his troublesome emotions. Perhaps Legolas had meditated within his private space and found peace in the beautiful tones of spring green and clean white that blanketed the Greenwood at this time. Legolas could experience what his realm had been like in the previous age, even if it was just a little enclosure. And Thranduil knew a walk in the forest always managed to clear his head. If this was what it took to restore his son to his former self, then so be it. He would give a thousand gardens to the prince if need be. He would cut his own heart out and hand it to the boy if he so desired. Without Legolas, Thranduil felt lost.

But wait. Now he had Thorin.

Thranduil asked Legolas, since this had been on his mind for a time now. “Regarding Thorin…” he started, feeling the boy stiffen in his arms. A sinking feeling descended upon him, but nevertheless he continued. “I wish for you to be kind to him, iôn nîn. He has no family he can go to at this time, and I must look after him. If you are throwing forks and calling him names, he will end up traumatized and none of us want that.”

Hesitantly, he took a look down at his son. Legolas nodded sadly and apologized, something Thranduil hadn’t expected at all.

“I am sorry, for when I see you so close to him, I cannot help it. I enter a state… and a feeling comes over me…….. “ His voice trailed off, the lilting tones fading into silence. Thranduil’s heart was overcome with pity, his gaze now soft and understanding. The poor thing was _jealous_ , and here Thranduil had thought his son terminally insane.

“Shh…” he soothed, gently stroking Legolas’s silky blonde hair “It’s okay. I understand…”

Then he heard a quiet voice so forlorn and far it couldn’t have been he Legolas he knew.

“It hurts, Ada.”

Thranduil’s eyes flicked down to see Legolas slowly inching away from him, tears falling down his face silver and silent.

“It hurts…..” Legolas’s voice was no more than a ghostly whisper and for a split second, Thranduil thought he was fading. _‘Hell no’_ he thought and reached for the retreating prince, but his hand grasped empty air as Legolas flipped backwards and landed _on his neck_ , a sickening crunch blooming up from the grass. Thranduil winced and went to grab him, but Legolas began to convulse and spasm as if having the seizure of his life. Gibbering as if possessed, a few words could be distinguished and they were “No”, “Ada”, “Help me”, “I can’t”….

Thranduil could only stare in horror, all magic power leaving his body as shock drained the color and heat from his face. His blood like ice in his veins, the simulated sky flickered and suddenly the garden was thrust into night, so blackened it was that from the darkness he saw a figure bent over backwards crawling on its hands and feet towards him. Said figure snarled a long, screeching “AaaAAAAADAAAAA…….” as it lunged for him, eyes glowing bright red.

“HOLY SHIT” Thranduil shrieked and jumped backwards, noping so hard he flew through the archway and up onto his throne in the center of the kingdom. His heart thundered against his ribs, breath shallow and eyes about to fall out of his head. “Fuck me…” he cursed, pressing a hand to his chest “What was that??”

Loud shrieks from down below caught his attention and he whipped his head in the direction he’d come from, seeing elves scatter like seagulls with chips at the sight of a figure blanketed in darkness emerging from the garden. It was Legolas, with a demonic grin plastered to his sheet white face. With ungodly speed he was scuttling up the pathway to the throneroom and Thranduil just about shit his pants. He took one second to check it was still clean down there and bolted for his immortal life.

“GAAAAAALIIIOOOONNNNNNNN!!!!!!” he screamed, hightailing it to the palace “LEGOLAS IS TRYING TO KILL MEEEEEEE!”

But Galion was nowhere to be found - this had never happened before and Legolas’s fingernails scratching against the rocky path were skittering closer, a hungered slathering from his lips dripping blood - the dread settled in Thranduil’s heart erupted into a petrified howl and the darkness was everywhere… so thick, so absolute….

 

Thranduil paused, his eyes still open. 

“Ada, are you okay…?” asked Legolas, his voice wavering with concern. Thranduil’s heart beat so fast the individual thumps could not be distinguished from each other any more. Very slowly, Thranduil looked at his son. His eyes had been unfocussed, and he was still stroking Legolas’s hair.

“Your eyes… they went green for a second. What happened…?”

Thranduil’s face distorted in shock, his lips in a tight, horrified grimace and eyes frozen in terror. He had just experienced a flash of foresight. It was no daydream. So was this truly going to happen-

“It hurts, Ada.”

**_“AW HEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLL NO!”_** Thranduil got the fuck out of there at light speed, his comfort leaving Legolas and rendering him so weak he could not fight the power that came over him. He merely twitched and the familiar darkness entered his eyes. Just as how he had been the previous day, Bitcholas was back. And he was _pissed_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horror writing is fun. I’ve played enough Amnesia to know when to crap yourself and seeing a demonic twisted Legolas skittering towards you is surely grounds to drop a deuce and run like a motherfucker.   
> So yeah! Here we have a bit of an insight and more confusion on wtf is actually wrong with Leggles. SPLIT PERSONALITY!?!??!?  
> And the customary angst, feels, Thranduil talks to flowers etc… lel.  
> Next chapter: idk?!
> 
> -btw please don't mind my swearing here and there, it's the internet-speak of my expression when I speak of things in notes. So um yeah it's fairly common :D if it bothers you don't read the notes, they ain't important. Basically me monologuing lellelel -


	7. Dark Depths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitcholas is back

Legolas scowled in annoyance as he made his way through the gates, leaving the Woodland Realm in silence. His former self had been completely overtaken by a benevolent force he couldn’t control - and now he was the bratty, cynical and rather aggressive elf we first met a while back. The guards let him pass without a word, as nobody wanted to incur the wrath of Legolas when he had that look in his eyes. Something evil had been stirred within him. At least he was leaving for now.

He made his way to the south of Mirkwood high up in the trees, avoiding the spiders who didn’t want anything to do with him either. Armed with his bow and daggers, wearing a black cloak over his green tunic… he was barely visible as he made his way to the designated meeting spot.

“So, you finally made it.” came the deep tones from below, another black cloaked figure shrouded in darkness standing perfectly still. A shiver ran down the elf’s spine and he jumped from the tree onto the ground, a few meters away from his contact.

“Of course I did. We have much to discuss.” Legolas adjusted his hood and stared at the black smoke curling about their feet, coming from the figure’s face which couldn’t be seen at all. “There is a dwarf in my father’s kingdom. One he intends to keep.”

“So I have heard.” said the figure, before unleashing a hysterical evil laugh. “Ahahahaha! I bet you’re jealous of it, no?”

“Oh shut up!” Legolas growled and crossed his arms, pouting as he looked away. “It’s just some stupid midget child working magic on my Adar. He doesn’t let it leave his side….”

“Heh.” A long lock of curly black hair swished across the figure’s body as he tossed it aside, shaking his head. “Maybe if you weren’t such a little bitch, your father would love you.”

At this, Legolas grew defensive and clenched his teeth. 

“At least I still have him! What about you, last I heard your _lover_ was in the pits of hell waiting for your steaming booty to pull him out. And here you are screwing around in my forest-”

“ _MY_ forest.” The figure snapped and flaming outrage flashed behind his smoky mask. “We do _not_ speak of my… personal matters.”

Legolas rolled his eyes. “Oh sure, sure.” he waved a hand flippantly as if dismissing any respect he had for the figure “Let’s just forget about your failures and weaknesses like-”

“ **ENOUGH!** ” Suddenly a blast of fire shot forth from the figure’s face and Legolas ducked just in time to see the tree behind him combust in a brilliant flash of white. His face paled.

“Valar, I get it. Calm your tits, I jest.” There was no mistaking the tension in the air and Legolas could see the one before him literally seething with rage. The smoke had begun to rise faster and it was clear someone was going to storm off in a hissy fit soon. No. Legolas had to ask, or beg for his assistance. “Do something about the dwarf, bro. Please.”

“Hmph.” A swirl of black and the figure had turned away. “What do I get in return…?”

Legolas sighed. “You already have my unconditional servitude and control over my mind. What more do you want, my virginity?”

At this, the figure turned back slowly and seemed to contemplate it. But before Legolas could run for his life, it turned out there was nothing needed in return. He would help. Seemingly at no cost.

“I will help you get rid of him. Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. Expect bloodshed. Lots.”

And with that, the figure disappeared in an oval flash of bright orange. Legolas exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and slumped against the smouldering tree stump, a heavy weight on his mind. Having another in control of one’s mentality was absolutely exhausting, and his mind had been read the entire time the two were conversing. Legolas was weary, so very weak. And for an elf who was known to be tireless, that was something.

Deep inside he yearned to be free, to apologize to his dear Adar for everything he had done wrong, and explain what had happened so long ago. How he was caught off-guard as a little elfling in the forest. How he could no longer control what he did. How it felt so natural and pleasantly cold to be horrible to everyone he saw. How it felt… to be evil.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short Chapter. I had to explain early on wtf was going on with Legolas and this was the best way I could do it. You can probably guess wat’s happening lol but hey plot device Leggy and not-so-mysterious figure = MOAR STUFF.  
> Next Chapter: Something’s done about Thorin. But what…?


	8. Messages and Calamity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> da hell is this
> 
> also yey for OC dev

A week had passed since Thranduil’s flash of foresight, and his jimmies had been very rustled as he went about his daily duties, thoughts of demonic Legolas invading his mind. When his son came back the night he’d left, Thranduil noticed something different about him. Something lonely, something lost, something dark and painful within his cold blue eyes. The Elvenking said nothing, for most of Legolas’s words hurt him terribly these days. He decided to leave him alone.

Today, he sat upon his throne looking down at his realm, a glass of wine in one hand and a haughty expression as usual. The sound of feet tapping against rock quirked his interest, and he raised an eyebrow when he saw Nelien running along the path leading to him. 

“Your Majesty…” she panted, removing her helmet with beads of sweat stuck to her face “Urgent… message… from Erebor…”

“What…?” Thranduil breathed in disbelief, leaning forth with widened eyes. 

“It’s… Thror… the King… wishes… haah.. Give me a minute…” she pressed a hand to her chest and coughed, still gasping for breath. Thranduil’s expression tightened with concern and he was patient, waiting a few moments before asking “Nelien, what happened to you…?”

She shook her head and gestured with her hand “It’s nothing. Mirkwood vapors. Shadows chasing… ahh, please read this.” Unwilling to speak further, she bowed and held up a piece of paper to Thranduil who set his glass down as he descended the stairs of his throne. 

“Calm yourself. I will read it later. Tell me, what happened…?” His piercing gaze fixed the guard before him with such intensity that she couldn’t bear to keep any secrets at all.

“The dead have been seen walking… in the forest. Gilneth, who we lost many years ago… I saw him again, yet there was no light in his face.” Nelien’s voice held such horror and fright within, her lips trembled as she spoke. Unable to keep eye contact with her King, she looked down at her feet. Blood stained her boots where she had stamped out the last undead breath from one who used to be her friend. Now tears filled her soft grey eyes and she reached to put her helmet on. Thranduil’s hand touched her own, colder than the metal she held. Nelien’s entire body locked up and she whispered… “A necromancer has come… we are doomed.”

Thranduil nodded quietly. “It is true, something I have feared for quite a while. You should not have encountered such a thing on your travels… seeing as I sent you to lake-town last week for that investigation-” he cut himself off, seeing Nelien’s overwhelming desire to spill her heart to him. 

“Lake-Town has not taken our meat shipments, it is Dale who refuse to trade with us now. Dale has been corrupted by naysayers in Erebor, who have started spreading rumours about you a month ago.” At this, Thranduil narrowed his eyes but his anger was not directed at the messenger. She put her helmet aside and wiped her eyes with her sleeve, smearing a bit of dirt from the leather vambrace on her pale skin. “Lake-Town wishes to trade with us in place of Dale, and they offer us many condolences along with free fish if we ever need it. Furthermore…” she gestured to the paper in her hand, which Thranduil still hadn’t accepted “Erebor has recieved knowledge that you have kidnapped Thorin and purposefully assassinated Thrain in order to exterminate the line of Durin-”

“PREPOSTEROUS!” Thranduil exploded, his entire face contorting with rage. Nelien shrieked and slapped a hand to her mouth in fright, holding the paper over her hunched, defensive form as if it were a shield. “HOW _DARE_ THEY-- ARghhhHhghhh….” The Elvenking began to pull at his hair in frustration, before realising with reddened cheeks that it probably wasn’t a very good idea. He turned swiftly and picked up his wine glass from the high armrest of his throne, downing it in one gulp. Now he paced the circular throneroom, heels clicking against the floor. Nelien was silent, quivering behind her paper.

“Ai, how could they think such a thing?!” he wailed, an extravagant gesture with both arms leaving him like an emotional open book. “I sent the excuses! I gave them room decoration gems! Everything was perfect, airtight, complete! How could this happen…?”

Nelien wondered if he’d gone mad since he was acting so out-of-character, and shifted around uncomfortably. _‘Please don’t hit me’_ she thought, all senses on high alert. Thranduilpinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers and sighed.

“Urgh… What more information can you tell?”

The guard took a deep breath before straightening up. “They do not trust the words you sent, for an outside informant has told them something they believe to be the truth. Another party who we don’t know about is involved, and it appears they wish to bring ruin upon this kingdom’s good name.”

Thranduil grunted in acknowledgement, very offended. To think these dwarves saw him as mistrustful! One without honor, who would lie and cheat his way into favour…

_‘But isn’t that basically what you did?’_ whispered a little voice inside his head _‘You knew Thrain was going to die and let it happen, while manipulating the situation to work for you.’_

Thranduil froze. That was _exactly_ what he had done.

“Y..your Majesty, are you alright…?” Nelien timidly asked, her demeanor much different with Thranduil than it was with anyone else. Truth be told, she was terrified of him, yet did anything he asked. Such close contact and emotional displays were rare things for her to experience, and wished she could have gone back with the other hunting elves to patrol the ‘safer’ parts of Mirkwood.

Thranduil nodded, rubbing his face with one hand. “Yes…” the whites of his eyes showed as he pulled his eyelids down, squeezing life back into his cheeks before shaking his thoughts away. “Seems legit. Someone may be trying to destroy us, and they know about Thorin and Thrain. Someone from the hunting party that day when we found the dwarves, I assume…” he then looked at Nelien, suspicion in his eyes. Nelien groaned inwardly at the thought of having her King distrust her, after all she’d been through.

“It’s not me.” she said as firmly as she could, offering the paper one last time. “This letter is from Thrain, who will be journeying to our lands on the next full moon. His intent is described herein. I implore you, please read what he has written.”

“Fine.” Thranduil snapped and took the paper, walking past Nelien with his head held high. Aggravated and tense, he needed to plan his next moves.

“Fetch me Galion.” he called, making his way towards the palace. But at the mere mention of the elf’s name, he appeared through the palace doors as he held them open for Thranduil, smiling softly.

“I’m here, aran-nîn.”

Thranduil’s serious look hit Galion right in the chest and the butler nervously stepped aside as he was spoken to.

“Good. I must speak with you. Come with me.”

They walked in silence to an upstairs viewing room, one with a window facing east that offered a distant look at the Lonely Mountain behind endless clouds. Thranduil indicated for Galion to sit at one end of a couch and the elf did so, calmly looking at his king. Moments later, Thranduil had gracefully draped himself atop the couch with his head in Galion’s lap, exasperation and fatigue written across his features. 

“Gaaaaaaahhh…” he sighed, pressing a hand to Galion’s cheek and making his head turn “Look over there. You see Erebor in the distance?”

Galion blushed helplessly and nodded - he was used to being Thranduil’s pillow but hadn’t expected the sudden mood swings.

“Someone told them we killed Thrain on purpose and kidnapped Thorin. We have a spy on the inside, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Perhaps this message will offer us some more insight?” Galion suggested, leaning his face into Thranduil’s hand ever so slightly. The hand slid down his neck and landed on Thranduil’s chest, another coming up to hand over the paper.

“Read it to me.” Thranduil ordered, closing his eyes with a furrowed brow.

Without further ado, Galion scanned the paper and took a shaky breath.

_“From the royal line of Durin, two have been lost to your heartless elven trickery and forest games. You killed my son. And kidnapped my grandson. The man in black told me so. You filthy pointy-eared liar, I cannot believe you tried to cover it up with accidents and spiders-”_

“Stop…” Thranduil protested weakly, a pained look on his face. “Can you filter out the insults, mellon-nín…?”

Galion apologized and rested a hand over Thranduil’s chest, calming him. “I will do so. Please give me a moment…”

A few seconds passed, yet Thranduil’s expression didn’t waver.

_“I will not let you keep Thorin. He will become King in my place, lest the royal family fall to pieces and grieve for our lost child. You will give him back, or I will kill you myself. By the light of the next full moon I will journey to your godforsaken lands and there will be absolutely NO negotiation whatsoever. Give me back my grandson. Bitch.”_

Galion cringed at the mistake he’d just made, and looked down to see Thranduil staring up at him rather vexed.

“A-aah, I’m so sorry-” He was shushed immediately by a poke to his stomach, and paused in confusion. Thranduil took the paper from him and read over one line.

“ _The man in black….._ He is our culprit.” said the Elvenking, whose mind churned with memories of every single evildoer he’d seen in black. The Ringwraiths. The sons of Fëanor. Sauron himself. And though he hadn’t seen the necromancer yet, he assumed one who raised the dead would cloak themselves in darkness as black as night.

But which man would dare sully the reputation of the most deadly elf in Middle-Earth? With an entire army of ninja assassins at his disposal and a son who could probably take out a dragon’s eye with his bow, Thranduil was not one to fuck with.

“A spirit, perhaps…?” murmured Galion who now gazed out the window, his long coffee-brown hair glinting in the sunlight. “Maybe one of your enemies of the past resurrected by the…”

“Necromancer…” Thranduil finished off, sitting up face-to-face with Galion. “How do you know about that?” he asked, his eyebrows knotting together. Galion was his most trusted servant and friend, and always had been ever since he was an elfling. Apparently, Galion had only been eavesdropping. No harm in that.

“These ears of mine hear things they should not…” he confessed, a feeling of guilt about him. “I apologize…”

“It’s fine.” said Thranduil, resting his head on Galion’s shoulder. He absentmindedly stroked the elf’s hair, reassuring him that he wasn’t mad at all. “I can’t think of any enemy who would do this to me, however… let alone have knowledge of the dwarf situation…”

Galion nodded, trying to be deep in thought but very _very_ distracted by Thranduil’s closeness. Even for the King of the Silvan elves, this sort of friendly affection was rare. Thranduil wasn’t drunk, was he…? Galion had only expected behaviour like this from lovestruck elleths or enthusiastic soldiers throwing about gestures of camaraderie and the like. 

“Ah, your Majesty…” he stuttered, feeling a little embarrassed “Are you feeling alright…?”

Thranduil said nothing. He was stressed, and needed a hug. Was that so hard to imagine?

He was a powerful ruler. Stoic, silent and in control. But he had a heart, and within it were held many feelings he couldn’t suppress for long. The gentle sensation of Galion’s straight hair sliding through his fingers calmed his twitchy nerves, and the logic in his mind became complete. A black figure was at fault. Thror would not negotiate. Yet he was coming into Thranduil’s territory, and the Elvenking held all the cards. This would play out his way, how he wanted it. Nobody would take his little Thorin from him. Not even death itself.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so Galion’s in love with Thranduil?! but it’s not a plot point JUST A LITTLE THING… headcanon. Lmao. Oh-so-loyal and stuff ya know XD-- - -STILL NO SRS ROMANCE OK PLS though it's tempting...--  
> Man I still suck at explaining but do you know the Silvan elves, Thranduil’s folk in particular are more passionate and instinctive than the other elven peoples of Middle-earth? Sometimes to the point of being accused of lack of civility. Less wise and more dangerous. More touchy-feely, close and protective. Kinda like some European cultures. How in Italy you can greet with hugs and kisses whereas in Japan you don’t go within a meter of another person lmao- yyyyyyyyyyyyeah.  
> SO EXPRESSIVE. UNF.

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by Dark and Deep by Shiny n New.


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